


South of Heaven

by PaxVobis



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Blood, Blood Kink, Car Sex, Concussions, Drugged Sex, Erections, F/M, Falling In Love, Goretober 2017, Inspired by Fanfiction, Love, Metalheads In Love, Nipple Piercings, Nosebleed, Oral Sex, POV Magnus, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Preklok, Sex in a Car, Slayer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 16:10:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12236241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxVobis/pseuds/PaxVobis
Summary: Goretober 2017 #1: Nosebleed.Magnus rams his car into the back of their lawyer's car and gets a horrific nosebleed.  His girlfriend, Cottonmouth, has a bit of a thing for blood.R18+ only, explicit sex.





	South of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ars Moriendi](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7668769) by [PaxVobis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxVobis/pseuds/PaxVobis). 



You take a moment to catch your breath as the pickup truck falls into brake around you, the trill of Slayer tinny on the radio as the engine settles to cool.  You could feel every moment of it, the crunch of glass under your wheels as you reversed back to park, the pop of vessels in your nostrils when your nose hit the steering wheel as the bumper bounced off the back of the car in front of you, the blunt collision that threw you forward into the wheel with a honk and then back onto the seat with the others screaming. 

Now they’re laughing, and your sinuses ring with the impact.  The blood is hot down your lip, your bare chest, pooling on your hairy belly as it falls in fat, heavy droplets and blots into the crotch of your jeans, speckles on the steel of your biker belt buckle and the gurning grin of its death’s head.  Your head feels light.  Blood on the steering wheel, a dark smatter on the black vinyl.  You can see the red in it, you know – the killing.  And your faint head makes _South of Heaven_ chime harp-like in your skull.

“Fucking  _awesome!”_  

Willy’s over you and out of the car already, he’s screaming with glee at the wreck as the cold night air whips in and the sound of the party in the distant house floats by on the breeze.  Well, the bastard lawyer deserved it; you gloat over the crumpled back of the Buick as your head spins, smiling peacefully, and then you feel Cottonmouth’s slender hand rub across your thigh and paw back towards her.  When you loll your head back to her, you can see her painted lips narrow, her eyes lustful under her mauve eyelids as she sees the blood on your face, and you know the next song on the tape is _Raining Blood._

Not an opportunity you wish to miss.

You pull the door closed with a slam and then stick your head out the open window, grinning up at Will as he looks clueless down at you.  “You go in Willy, we’ll join you in a bit,” you tell him, every word letting the blood into your mouth with a stinging iron taste, and you smile sweetly as if she isn’t clawing your blood sopped crotch now.  Will opens his mouth to ask why he should go on ahead, but then swallows his objection and nods hurriedly, backing away over the grass and leaving you alone.  When you look back into the car, there’s Cotton, shadowed by the harsh cut of the streetlight above, licking the blood from your crotch off of her fingers and smiling like a sphynx, and you’ve never seen anything hotter.

“Oh, baby,” you say, dizzied by the blood loss and concussion, and she grabs you by the lapels of your shirt and tugs you forward across the bench seat.  And you are alone.  Her mouth is cool on yours as she drags you to her, your kiss sopping with blood, and her lips tastes like the pastel of her lipstick, like chalk, like cigarettes, like the cheap vodka and cherry coca cola she serves herself from cans half filled with the poison from a flask in her handbag.  You’ve both had cocaine and ecstasy, a gift from your drummer railed up at the gig before, and it hit on the drive to pick up William; by now it’s fully in, making every black edge sharp and the blood glisten, your heart swelling and aching for her as her hands run over your neck, and you can taste it at the back of her tongue as you kiss open mouthed, the blood weeping onto your tongues as you almost choke each other with them.

Almost as soon as you have your arms around her, you have a hand hooked into the top of her red corset crop and have yanked it down, her bare breasts spilling out of the top.  She kisses you with a vampiric hunger, moaning into your mouth as you grope her pale breast with one hand squashed between your bodies, her legs already spread around you and her leather skirt ridden up around her hips.  Her fishnets gather against your jeans leg, bunching, and when you paw your hand across her thigh their clinging texture is insane.  With your hand returned to her breast, your hard on ground into her crotch, you slide her bar piercing through her exposed nipple and she bites your lip in reward. 

When you pull back, propped up on your arms with her laid on the bench seat below you and panting, her white face is covered in blood.  And fuck, you love her.  You love her so much it hurts, like a hard on in your heart, like a stitch, like liver failure.  Your blood drips down onto her, the fat drops splattering onto the unmarked skin of her breasts.  “Fuck,” you murmur, as if speaking above a whisper would break the spell, “Cotton.” But you never say that word, no matter how much you mean it, no matter how much your face would betray you all the same. 

She moans, raising her pelvis against you as her hands rub over her breasts, smearing your blood with her fingers.  “Magnus,” she says softly with a bloody smile, her shoulders raised against the passenger door she leans on, and fingers her nipple piercings.  The light is harsh on her pale skin, makes her look like a cartoon.  “Do you have something to say to me?”

The smell of your blood is so strong that it overpowers your nostrils, and you stare at her as she starts to pull her panties down her legs, her shaved cunt glistening with her arousal.  Your heart feels like it’s breaking, like you love her so much you’ll burst out of your skin, and your cock throbs heavy against the tight, blood damp denim of your jeans.  Now that she expects something of you, nothing is enough.  You’re dumb.  You’re so fucking dumb. 

“I’ll, do anything -- ” you gag, and she watches you, gazes straight into your eyes as she brings her knees up and shimmies her panties over her thigh high latex boots.

“Anything?”

“Anything...”

And she’s smiling, draping the panties over your gearstick.  Her legs rest on your hips, her long nailed fingers gliding over her shining cunt as her other hand tangles with your curls.  “Then choke,” she says, and shoves your head towards her crotch, the blood splattering on her labia before you meet it face first. 

Cotton’s cunt has an electric quality, a sharp, vicious taste that you have always loved curling your tongue into for the crazy sensation.  The first time you went down on her, you said, _eating your pussy is like sucking a battery!_   And she loved that.  Now your blood mixes with the taste, your back hunched and your nails tangled in her fishnets, the latex of her boots sticking to the sweat of your neck as she groans and quivers around you. 

You’ve been together long enough that you know how to do this for her, know she likes the bite of your nails in her thighs and the nip across her clit, until she’s stretching her arms above her and clutching the handle above the passenger window for support.  When she cums, you can taste that too, that syrupy rush taste like acid, like stewed flowers, and you mash your lips over her cunt in love with it.  When she yanks your face back up by a handful of your hair, you can see your blood smeared all over her pussy, the fluids dripped onto the vinyl seat, and the cold air through the window cools the mess on your face and beard as you lick your lips. 

“Oh my god,” says Cotton, gazing at you dazed with her legs spread, one on the dash and the other hooked around your headrest.  “Magnus.”

You just smile at her, the last ebbs of your nosebleed oozing down your top lip warm against the night air.  She shines below you, her thumb tracing the curve of your bottom lip as she stares at you.  She’s in love, it’s written all over her.  She has something to say.

“I need you,” she slurs, and you hang over her body, waiting for her next word, kissing her fingers slowly.  But her next words are, “Inside me.  Right now.”  And you knew you fucking loved this woman for a reason.  She makes you feel like a fucking god.

**Author's Note:**

> and then they fuck, have a cigarette, and _then_ magnus remembers he was angry at murderface


End file.
